


When I Palm Tree

by CandleCucumbers



Category: IDubbbzTV - Fandom, The Cancer Crew, The Filthy Frank Show (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Mind the Rating, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoke Weed Everyday, Smoking, blaze it, guest appearance, that wasn't an endorsement that was a meme, the giggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandleCucumbers/pseuds/CandleCucumbers
Summary: Ian has always had a crush on George but has never made a move because he thinks it would ruin their frienship. One day, Ian and George are supposed to hang out and they both end up smoking some weed (blaze it 420) and getting high in his apartment and some unexpected shit goes down. Mostly on George's couch if ya know what I mean. *extremely forced and unfunny winking*





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a quick drabble that I wanted to post before finals but too much shit got in the way. Now that hell week is finally over I was able to type it all out and post it! This one was also based on kind of a daydream.
> 
> If you want a better idea of what George's living room looks like, watch the end of the Adam Sandler Conspiracy Theory lol. Also, I finally decided on a better title, it's based on a weed song I like. Check it out if you like rap.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ian is at George’s place at 5pm sharp like they'd talked about, he's already knocked and is just waiting for him to get ready so they can go out for the night. He can tell things aren't gonna go according to plan though when George opens the door, and unleashes the undeniable, heavy scent of weed. He can also tell George is already high by the dazed smirk he greets him with. 

“Hey, man. Come in, come in,” gesturing him to follow with a wave of his arm. He leads him further down the narrow hall towards his living room. “I was actually in the middle of a smoke sesh, you don’t mind do you?”

“Dude, hell no.”

“Cool.”

The small living room is where it smells the strongest. There's a couch, a coffee table littered with cups, empty bottles, and an ashtray full of butts. The window to the left of them with the venetian blinds open, letting the daylight filter in. He spots the jar of weed and the blunt propped on the edge of the ashtray, already lit.

Ian stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the room, “what the fuck’s that doing here?” he asks drily, pointing towards the couch. 

“Oh, you mean E.T? He’s family,” he replies grandly.

George plops down on the couch and puts his arm over the fake alien which is propped up by the armrest. George smiles up at Ian. “Don’t tell me you two haven’t been introduced,” he asks in faux disbelief.

“I haven’t had the pleasure," he sits down on the couch next to George, and can't help but stare at the thing's black glassy eyes, mildly unsettled. It's wearing a beanie and an oversized white t-shirt. “It's giving me the creeps, you just leave it lying around?”

George looks at him gravely and whispers, “he speaks to me when we're alone, sometimes.”

Ian stares at him, " _ha ha_." 

George grins and relents. He reaches for the blunt on the coffee table.

“You didn’t say you were gonna smoke earlier.” Ian comments.

“Yeah but my weed man just hit me up with a pretty good deal, so why not?” George shrugs and picks up the already lit blunt from the ash tray and holds it between his lips. His brows furrow as he takes a pull, then plucks it out of his mouth on a slow exhale.

George looks over to him and gestures with the blunt. “You wanna hit it?”

Ian bites back a grin at the thought of what else he'd like to hit.

“Sure, ” he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger and takes a drag, watches the cherry burns brightly.

Usually blunts hit too harshly for him, he's only ever smoked joints before but the smoke is smooth and warm. He exhales and feels the rippling sensation of the marijuana seep through him.

“This is some good shit.”

“Thanks, its medical grade.”

“Shit, give me a prescription.”

George giggles easily at the sub par joke, clearly already high. He’s never smoked with George before but he thinks he likes it already. He grins and he hits it again, then passes it back to George. 

They end up forgetting about their plans, and stay on George’s couch doing smoke tricks and giggling about things that probably aren't even that funny. Whatever semblance of conversation they had has now devolved to Ian embarrassingly trying to speak Japanese to him. Well, "trying" is an overstatement. It's more along the lines of stringing a bunch of random Japanese words together and completely making some of them up. He sounds ridiculous.

George sputters at one of Ian’s many persistent and shameless attempts to communicate, throwing his head back and laughing boisterously. 

It spurs Ian on even more.

“Stop! Stop, you sound fucking retarded,” George gasps between giggles.

“You saying Japanese is retarded, George? How dare you.” He feigns offense. He props his elbow against the back of the couch so he can face George fully whose slumped against the couch. He hasn't noticed how close they're sitting until now.

“If that’s Japanese, it’s the retarded version,” he pats Ian on the cheek .

Ian grins wider at that. He has a point there. He almost forgets to stop himself from leaning into the brief touch, something in his chest twists and he wonders what else he has to do to get George to touch him again.

“You know, it’s not my fault you’re such a shitty teacher,” he turns the blunt over in his hand, watching the smoke rise from both ends. He brings it back up to his lips.

"I think my millions of faithful students would disagree with you Ian." George raises his eyebrow for dramatic effect.

Ian smirks and blows the smoke up to the ceiling, "yeah. They've learned so many important things, like how to say 'I eat ass.'"

George's gaze lowers and the corner of his mouth quirks into a lopsided grin as he huffs a laugh, "that's a very important thing to know how to say, you know."

"Yeah like I'd ever need to say that," Ian scoffs.

"Why wouldn't you?" George grins tauntingly at him and takes the blunt out from his hand. 

"Uh, because I do not eat ass, George," he explains slowly like he's speaking to a five year old but he's grinning. "Wait, do you?"

George shrugs and squints as he hits the blunt again, "what can I say, chicks dig it more than you'd think." He winks at Ian and passes the blunt back to him. Ian watches their fingers partially touch. He looks back up and sees George still looking at him quiet and thoughtful. He doesn't look away right away, he waits before casually turning his gaze elsewhere.

They continue passing the blunt between each other until it's down to a roach.

Ian has felt pretty baked up until this point, but it's been steadily building until it almost overwhelms his senses. His body and mind feel heavy but he's not sleepy, he's intensely aware of what's going on around him.

His head is resting against the couch, idly watching the dust particles and curls of smoke among the dying rays of light that filter through George's window. He turns his head to the side and notices with alarming detail how George’s lips look as he does a French inhale. Or when he blows O’s. Or the look of concentration on his face when he does all of it.

Ian soon realizes he can’t stop staring, openly staring. He's completely absorbed and can’t seem to look away.

He’s always been discrete, always careful when he’s around him. Careful not to give anything away. He knows it could never go anywhere, it would just make things weird. But he’s so fucking blazed and George is leaving his mouth parted after inhaling. He’s mesmerized by the milky smoke that rises out from between those pale pink lips before he fully exhales.

Seemingly oblivious, George leans forward to ash it before sitting back comfortably and taking another pull.

Suddenly-- George turns and looks Ian dead in the face with shrewd eyes as he blows the smoke at him through lightly pursed lips.

Ian’s heart thuds to a stop and prickling heat blooms across his face. He looks away immediately this time, completely involuntary. He clenches his jaw and rests his elbows on his knees, in a matter of seconds his previously relaxed state turns into a paranoid storm of anxiety that swirls in the pit of his stomach. Panicked, he searches for something to say. He must have looked so creepy what the absolute _fuck_.

George quirks his lips and continues smoking.

While Ian sits there, shoulders hunched around himself, actively trying to pretend he doesn’t exist, George scoots close to him and cups his face, turning him back around. 

Ian doesn't know what's happening until George is right up in his face; the hand on the side of his neck is big and warm on his skin, pulling him closer. George has a gleaming look in his eye that makes Ian balk with confusion.

"George? What-" He's still holding the smoke in his mouth and _still_ leaning in. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh--_

George's nose bumps his cheek as he tilts his head to connect their lips very lightly, barely touching. George’s mouth opens, and Ian mirrors the action mindlessly, eyes wide and heart stuttering. George softly blows the smoke into his mouth and it takes Ian a second to catch onto that after the initial shock has passed. He blinks, glances down at George’s lips and he breathes in, filling his lungs with smoke and George’s own scent. 

Ian exhales whatever he was able to get, staring at George dumbly when he pulls back.

“I don’t think I got any” he blurts out without thinking. His face heats up and he wants to slap himself for being so damn obvious. God damn weed. The spot where George had his hand now feels cold.

“Not a problem,” George grins smugly around the roach as he fills his mouth with more smoke, but not inhaling. 

This time, when George leans back in, Ian is anticipating it.

This time, when George leans in, he tilts his head and seals his lips over Ian’s in something like an open mouthed kiss. Ian’s heart is pounding and he doesn’t know if it’s from the marijuana or because he’s just wanted this for so long.

They both close their eyes as George blows the smoke into his mouth which Ian happily accepts. This time, the smoke has nowhere else to go so it’s thicker and it makes his mind hum. Things start moving real slow.

When Ian’s lungs are full, he presses his full weight against George, kisses him for real and exhales through his nose. Fuck, his lips really are as soft as they look. Unbelievably soft. His hand finds its way into George's hair

They pause momentarily, foreheads pressed together. When Ian has expelled all the smoke, he gathers his wits and tentatively flicks his tongue against George’s plump bottom lip, then sucking it into his mouth. George makes a small, cut off noise in the back of his throat and they kiss each other earnestly, hardly giving themselves a chance to breathe.

Ian revels in the softness of George’s lips, the unique taste of his mouth, the press of his warm tongue. He indulges himself as much as he can and hardly notices his glasses getting knocked around or fogging up as they frantically move their mouths together. 

After a minute or two, George moves to pull away but Ian doesn’t let him. He follows the movement, chasing his lips, not wanting it to end. George chuckles and shoves him away playfully so he can hastily put out the blunt in the ashtray. 

Once he does that, he focuses all his attention on Ian. He pulls him back in by the nape of his neck and kisses him warmly. 

Ian sighs openly into the kiss and he grips George’s wrist. He can't help but moan quietly as their tongues meet. His lips are tingling; the places where George touches are tingling; there’s bright warmth in his chest and he feels lighter than a feather.

He brings his left knee up on the couch so he can face George directly, pressing him into the back of the couch. Runs his hands through his hair, down his neck, anywhere he can get his hands on.

They pull back briefly to catch their breath.

Slowly, George opens his eyes, looking at him steadily. Ian sees George's face go from dazed to amused and the moment is broken when he throws himself back against the couch, screwing his eyes shut and laughing hysterically like he’s seen the funniest thing in the world.

Ian doesn’t know if he’s got something on his face or if he should get offended but he laughs along with him, it's annoyingly contagious as usual, even more so now.

“What the fucks so funny?” He asks with a wide grin, brows furrowed in confusion, crowding him in and placing his hands on either side of Georges hips.

George wipes his eyes with the back of his hand desperately trying to catch his breath. 

“Ian! Y-your eyes are so fucking low, they’re practically closed. They–you…you look –” he’s trying to compose himself but he breaks into giggles again like he can’t help himself.

Ian smiles toothily. His eyes don’t feel that low, he can see just fine after all. But it must he must really look funny if it’s getting to George this much. The thought makes him laugh harder –fuck that pot is really good.

“Look who’s fucking talking, your eyes are always low you fuckin’ Jap,” he murmurs against George’s mouth. It’s a lame comeback but he honestly can’t care. He’s more concerned with kissing his lips and jawline

George scoffs through his smile and raises his eyebrows “No, Ian. Your eyes are literally almost closed right now, you look like you’re about to drop dead. Not joking.” He bites his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back more laughter.

“Oh yeah, well what about now?” Ian forcefully opens his eyes, widening perhaps a little more than necessary.

Apparently he completely fails and makes it worse because George loses it again, cackling uncontrollably. His eyes crinkle to the point of squinting, a huge smile spread across his face. Seeing it up close, it takes Ian’s breath away. He ducks his head under George’s chin, a little embarrassed but still cracking up as George begs him to never do that again.

He gradually calms down, breathing laughs through his nose and rests his hand on the nape of Ian’s neck. Ian looks back up and they smile goofily at each other.

“We’re so fucking smacked”

“I know.”

Ian leans in again and they continue lazily making out for a while, enjoying the closeness.

Things get progressively more steamy as they go on. Hands start wandering under shirts. George begins leaning back towards the cushions and Ian follows. That is –until they pump into something.

“Jesus fucking Christ, George," Ian grinds out, "why do you _have_ that thing there?” 

George looks over his shoulder, confused. He sees that Ian is talking about E.T. 

“What?” he asks, completely clueless. 

“What do you mean what? _Look_ at it, it's disgust- Wait...was it facing this way before…?” Ian asks serious all of a sudden. He's probably just tripping the fuck out but...he could have sworn the thing was facing the TV and not them.

George snickers and runs his hand around Ian’s waist and up his back. “Don’t tell me you’re actually scared of him, Ian.” 

“I think it’s…George, did it move?” His eyes go wide and he turns pale. George has to fight hard not to roar with laughter again. 

“I think he wants to join in, Ian,” George whispers playfully in his ear, “you up for it?” he nips the lobe.

"Oh god," Ian snorts a laugh, breaking from his reverie. “You are sick George, I _bet_ you've probably fucked that thing a couple of times but leave me out of it." 

George gasps, "how did you know?!"

Fuck off, George. Seriously,” but he still sounds amused.

“You don’t like to share, got it.” George says with a mirthful grin.

Ian pauses and just looks at George and George looks right back.

“You’re very right about that,” Ian smiles, hopeful. He leans in again and kisses him slowly, thoroughly. George wraps his arm around him and hugs him closer.

“You’re an idiot for not saying anything before, you know that right?” George tells him.

Ian averts his eyes and nods reluctantly. “Yeah I know.” He looks back slowly and is about to say something else but George cuts him off with another quick kiss.

“You still sure about turning down E.T.’s offer?”

They both break out in laughter, “yes, fucking get rid of it, _please_.”

“Damn,” George says in disappointment before he turns and throws E.T. off the couch. Then he yanks Ian on top of him, continuing where they left off.

**Author's Note:**

> Please lemme know what you thought of it! Imagining the boys getting the weed giggles is just the funniest thing to me. This isn't supposed to be some stereotypical portrayal of getting high, I just wanted the boys to laugh and have fun with each other.


End file.
